


The Baths of Harrenhal

by heartscreamer009



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Declarations Of Love, F/M, First Kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-09-01 05:23:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16758781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartscreamer009/pseuds/heartscreamer009
Summary: Headcanon for Season 8, after J/B reunion, a reprisal of the first bath scene with something there that wasn't there before...





	The Baths of Harrenhal

**Author's Note:**

> My first A03, first public fanfic & first J/B piece!

Despite her privacy in Harrenhal’s bathroom and the soothing luxury of the hot water, Brienne couldn’t shake the dread weighing in her. She was getting closer to Winterfell, to being with Sansa and Arya, personally watching over Catelyn Stark’s daughters to keep them safe. But the fear of what had become of them under Littlefinger’s supervision was crippling her hope. The fact that she hadn’t received any ravens since she and Podrick left elevated her fears even more. She closed her eyes in stress and laid back, water lapping just beneath her ears.

_“I do not need to be watched over or minded or cared for!” Sansa sharply exclaimed, walking from the fireplace to take a seat at the head table "I’m not a child! I am the Lady of Winterfell and I am home! This is the safest place for me.”_

_Any other day Brienne would have been impressed at the pride in Sansa’s words. Any other day she would have trusted Sansa enough to recognize danger and dispose of it before it was too late. But Brienne had seen what betrayal had cost, from watching Renly fall in his tent dead to hearing of Robb and his family being slaughtered by the Freys. She knew the failure of looking away from a threat until it was too late. Leaving any room for this to happen to any of Catelyn Stark’s daughters would be unforgivable, regardless of the outcome, and especially if she allowed it. There was already room for this to happen by Littlefinger’s presence alone._

_S_ _he knew she was losing the argument, but Brienne tried anyway._

_"My lady,” She stepped forward, losing control of the desperation in her voice “I swore an oath to protect you and your sister. If I abandon you-”_

_Sansa looked up from her book, a cold, impatient look of disappointment stamped on her face. It was almost enough to silence Brienne on the spot without Sansa’s words._

_“The road to King’s Landing is long, Lady Brienne, and you won’t be traveling on summer roads. The sooner you leave, the better your chances of making it on time.” She looked back down to resume her work, as if Brienne hadn’t even spoken._

_Brienne couldn’t move for a moment. Several protests flew around inside her head, too strong for her to speak. She wasn’t even sure if she could convince herself of their validity anymore. Her fear died into disappointment of her own, unsure if it was towards herself or towards Sansa. Nevertheless, she straightened up and looked down at the Lady of Winterfell._

_“Yes, my lady.” She turned around to prepare for her journey, disappointment blending with sadness, wondering more with each step towards the door if Sansa was hiding something from her or if she even cared about what she was asking of her._

Her last conversation with Catelyn Stark’s daughter had shared no respect between them. It could have been the last conversation they ever had. Her lip wobbled at the shame, and tears flowed down her face, dripping into the hot water. She had heard nobody come in, but she opened her eyes to make sure that she was alone. She only cried when she was alone, when no one else was there to see. It wasn’t safe to be weak in front of others, especially in a war like this. For now, she had the time to let the tiny, soft bastards out of her eyes when she wanted them, without judgement. She almost never had that luxury anymore.

She didn’t start sobbing until a couple of minutes later, when she allowed herself to feel the burden of knowing she couldn’t fail this time, while also knowing that it wasn’t entirely up to her. She hadn’t been there for Catelyn, her presence didn’t save Renly, and her decision to not be with Sansa when she should have been carried regret that almost rivaled her despair at watching the death of her king. There was no Jon Snow to keep her safe. Arya was there, but Arya wasn’t Jon Snow. Arya wasn’t a leader because she was a skilled fighter. She might not have been even aware of Littlefinger’s deception. And if she was tricked…

She was careful to keep her sobs quiet enough to not be heard through the walls. Her hand rose out of the water to cover her mouth and absorb the pained noises from her throat. She couldn’t remember the last time she had been so scared. Not even any battles came close. Was it because she didn’t trust them to know better? She froze at the implication before crying some more. Why didn’t she trust them? No, she trusted them, she had to. She didn’t trust Littlefinger. She could never trust Littlefinger. Why didn’t anybody see that he couldn’t be trusted with anything—

She didn’t trust the girls at all. The notion disgusted her as much as the truth cleared everything. She didn’t trust the girls to look after themselves. She couldn’t, no matter how much she convinced herself that she had to. It had to happen sooner or later, leaving them. Had she failed herself too? This was different than fearing for Catelyn, almost like fearing for Podrick. Different because now she was fearing for children. No. Sansa, Arya, Bran and Podrick weren’t children. They had grown and lived and been through things just like she had. Now wasn’t the time to coddle anyone. Especially the Lady of Winterfell. She took a sharp breath, suddenly thankful that their last conversation hadn’t been in front of a crowd of Northerners. How was she to behave around her once she returned? What would Sansa ask her to do next? What if Littlefinger was there instead while Sansa and Arya and Bran were lying dead alongside their other family members?

She finally looked up from the water and almost leaped in fright at the sight of Jaime Lannister standing at the entrance.

He was fully clothed, but his robe left a deep v-neck that exposed a thin sliver of his chest down to his navel. His tired face had a hint of worry along with some wonder and surprise. Brienne felt a stirring in her stomach and shoved it away as soon as it came. She immediately turned away and began to wipe away her tears, bringing her hands up so fast she was almost slapping herself. Crying in front of him was almost as terrifying as not knowing if Catelyn’s daughters were alive. After a moment of silence, Jaime continued to disrobe and to Brienne’s surprise, he joined the next tub, leaving her alone in hers, unlike before.

He had been crying that day too.

He didn’t look at her once he sat down. He looked a lot like he had the first time they were here. His beard was back, but his hair was shorter. She was happy to see that beard again, for all the agony that he was to her with it. She bit her lip and turned back towards the water, dunking her head. Once she came up, she turned and saw that he had turned towards her bath, slight concern on his face. Every inch of her body was rinsed, and her warm head provided some comfort she hadn’t had before. Jaime squinted at her face a little.

“It didn’t wash the tears away, if that’s what you’d hoped.”

Brienne stilled, readying herself to lash out at him the moment it was apparent that he was joking at her pain.

“It’s better to let it out, trust me.”

His voice was calm and supporting, not an ounce of sarcasm or joking to be heard. He never seemed to stop surprising her. She remembered the story of the Mad King from his feverish lips and ragged, exhausted voice, his face breaking from the emotions and truth he had been shamefully hiding ever since that terrible day. His right stump had been freshly chopped, wrapped in a bandage and fighting infection, another attack at who he was that had almost killed him.

She felt an aching, tender pride at his words. He knew better than to make fun of her emotion. He had been there more times than he deserved. He was giving her permission to feel, without even knowing what that feeling was. She smiled amongst her sobs, almost laughing. She didn’t have words for how great it felt.

There was one more thing he had said to her back then that had surprised her, one that she had never truly returned even if she had spelled it in their actions. One that she knew would cause more harm if she went the rest of her seemingly short life without revealing it to him.

“I trust you.”

His lip slightly wobbled, but he smiled with relief. He didn’t leave his bath, but he crossed through the water over to the wall closest to her. She was surprised at the urge to move away, as if the genuineness that had occurred within the past few minutes had never happened. She resisted and stayed where she was, separated from Jaime by the stone barrier, the narrow footpath between their baths. Now they could reach out and touch each other. But they didn’t. Jaime spoke again, no uncertainty in his voice.

“If it’s something that makes Lady Brienne cry, it’s a danger to all of Westeros.”

She finally got the courage to raise her head a little more.

“I’m just impatient to be back at Winterfell. I’ve been away from Catelyn Stark’s children for too long.”

Jaime pursed his lips, sympathy in his eyes.

“Ned and Catelyn raised their children to survive. Sansa was alive when I thought she was dead. I’m sure she knows what to do. You also said that Arya didn’t need protection anymore. And from what you’ve told me about Bran-”

“I left them with Littlefinger!” Brienne’s impatience came faster than she wished, and she was unable to hold back the outburst. She raised her head and instantly regretted it when she saw Jaime’s face, taken aback. Taking a breath, she continued, voice shaking.

“I was too late to save Renly, I wasn’t there to save Catelyn. I was almost too late to save Sansa and Theon. I’ve lost her to Littlefinger before. Littlefinger’s the reason she ended up with Ramsay and-” She shut her eyes, unable to finish the sentence. Jaime didn’t say anything. “Sometimes I still feel Locke’s men hitting me and dragging me into the woods. I can’t imagine living with what she endured.” The tears were coming back, more intense than before. “She didn’t deserve this. And now I purposefully left her and her siblings with the man who’s manipulated and nearly gotten her killed and I haven’t gotten any ravens that they’re still alive. And if they’re not…I can’t live with myself if they’re not.”

“They are.” Jaime came out of the tub enough to rest his arms on the floor, slightly closer to Brienne. “They are alive, Brienne. You have to stop thinking you’re a failure.”

“I don’t know if I failed!” Brienne hated herself getting angry, but she couldn’t help it. “I don’t know. I wasn’t strong enough to break my oath like you were-” She stopped talking immediately, terrified at the line she had crossed.

“I’m sorry.”

Jaime’s attention hardened, but there was no judgement on his face.

“Nobody has ever called me strong for doing that. Don’t apologize for that.”

Brienne relaxed a little, but eased back, looking away from Jaime.

“If Catelyn’s children die…after the argument that Sansa and I had…and after not being with them when I should have…”

Jaime gave her some time to sob, and spoke

“It seems like you think of them as your own children. Like you’re their mother.”

Brienne turned back to him and his soft, bearded face. She could have sworn small tears was forming in his eyes. It was difficult enough to cry in front of him, if she was making him cry as well… “You should be proud of yourself for caring like that.”

“Proud?” Proud for being worried? Brienne had plenty of good reason to be worried, she wasn’t sure why Jaime was taking the trouble to praise it.

“All the challenges and the hurt and punishments you didn’t deserve, from me and from Locke and Locke’s men and from so many more men, and you love those children as if they’re your own. You don’t know how strong you are.” Brienne wasn’t used to people talking about her like this. She had heard it more in the past few months than her entire life, and hearing it from Jaime made all of the past few months pale in comparison.

“You don’t know how much you saved me that night.” She hated talking about the night he lost his hand, the night she almost lost her body. “I’ll never know how much it cost you.”

“Ah, that was just my own mouth that took my hand. If I had shut up, I would still have it.” He lifted his right arm up, gazing at the stump of flesh at the end. “But then, if it were…there wouldn’t be a lot of things that I’m happy for now.” He turned to her. “You don’t know how much you saved me. How much it meant for you to listen.”

“You can’t base who you are off of your failures, or what other people think of you. We’ve got too much to fight now-”

“I’m trying to tell you how much you mean to me, damn it!” Jaime almost shouted, but it wasn’t what made Brienne stop. “If you don’t know that by now-”

“Don’t make me upset for not knowing anything.” Brienne’s cool response frightened her more than Jaime’s outburst. Jaime’s eyes widened at his mistake, and he lowered his head in shame. His lips slightly parted, and Brienne thought he was going to apologize.

Suddenly, she didn’t want him to. Unable to speak, she moved over and slowly reached for his right arm, closing her hand over his stump, gently massaging it. Jaime looked up enough to see her hand, and she could feel his pulse quicken under his stiffened arm.

“I guess it’ll only get better once we’re at Winterfell and we can see for ourselves.” She whispered, not looking up at him, too scared to see what his face was now. “I’m sorry, Brienne.”

She hadn’t stopped him from saying that after all.

“You don’t need to-”

“Yes I do.” She gave no response, gave him the space to feel he had been giving her the entire time. Her hand never left his arm, and he never took it away. Something occurred to her.

“Our truce has been reinstated.” She wasn’t as good as he was at this kind of talk.

“This can’t be a truce.” Brienne looked at him in surprise, which grew at the sudden longing in his face, and the same feeling pulling in her stomach. “We can’t call this a truce.”

“What else can we call it?” Brienne had no answer, so he had to. And when he didn’t speak, she knew that he didn’t have the answer either. Just the same look, the same face, the same souls from all those years ago.

That’s when they both knew the answer, and they were both too scared to tell the truth of what this truce really was.

So Jaime didn’t speak.

Jaime’s left arm rose from the tub and came up to Brienne’s hand, thumb stroking the top. Brienne didn’t protest, but she was more wary of her surroundings and sensations than she had ever felt in the time they’d been talking. Any other day she would have thought it was too good to be true, but too much had happened between them for her to even contemplate that. He extended his fingers and Brienne turned her arm over to meet them, locking their hands together as if they had done it so many times before. They had never done this before, and she loved it.

She felt his arm slightly tugging her towards his bath, so slight she briefly wondered if he was doing it against his will, by some unspoken standards he had always followed. She felt his arm shaking, and looked into his eyes. There were no tears left, but plenty of emotion to make up for them, none of it hungry or judgmental. Now, she didn’t trust the longing she felt. She was too scared to fully think about what he wanted, too scared to think about what she wanted.

After leaving the Stark children with Littlefinger, though, she couldn’t think of a worse decision.

So she didn’t think.

Shaking herself, she pushed herself up out of the tub, keeping her eyes on Jaime, crawling to the edge of his bath. Suddenly, he rose to his knees, unlocking his hand from hers to bring up to the side of her face. They were exactly the same height, looking across from each other. His eyes did several small bounces, surveying around her face, mouth slightly open as if he couldn’t speak the words they said. Brienne thought about saying something, before realizing that she didn’t need to, and instead her eyes narrowed to the spot beneath Jaime’s nose before going back up to his eyes. Jaime understood her permission, and closed the gap between their lips.

Brienne was surprised that she didn’t protest as soon as they kissed. She kept her hands anchored to the floor, her only source of support in the sudden weakness Jaime’s lips had left her in. He was graceful and gentle, but firm. Nothing like the treatment she had gotten from other men in her life, and even better than she could have imagined with Renly. There were no words necessary. Maybe that made the difference between a truce and love.

Feeling stronger, she lifted her hands from the floor and glided them behind Jaime’s neck, just towards the small of his back, their kiss gaining more traction. She would need to break away to move into the tub, and the thought of stopping this pained her. But before she could begin, Jaime took his hand away from her face and wrapped both arms around her waist. He wanted her in. She pushed herself forward and combined with Jaime’s enthusiasm, they both toppled into the water with great splashes, completely submerged. Brienne was up almost immediately, coughing out a small amount of water before looking down at Jaime and pulling him up by the arm until his head and torso breached the surface, steady against the waves they had made. They couldn’t help laughing after he finished coughing.

“I can’t have you be the first Lannister that dies in a bathtub.” Brienne reminded him playfully. Jaime took her hand and pulled her down to her knees in front of him.

“I’ve already died.” Jaime’s emotion was breaking free, and Brienne was no longer afraid of it. “You’ve killed the man I was. The man I wasn’t meant to be.” Brienne’s lip wobbled as she stroked his wet hair with one hand, the other cradling his face, tears big and fresh but happy.

“We don’t get to chose who we love.” She whispered his words back to him. “We only chose who we are. And then everybody else can’t help but notice. I wouldn’t chose who I was before I met you.” Jaime brought his hand to his mouth, where he kissed it and she felt the brushing of his hair and mustache across her palm. He brought his eyes back to hers, still holding her hand.

“I’m yours.” He whispered, a pure, inelegant and genuine whisper. “I will always be yours.” She let him draw her towards him, turning her sideways so she could snuggle up next to him, wrapping her arms around his chest and shoulders. He brought his head down to gently kiss the clawed scars on her collarbone, and she let herself breathe. Jaime came back up and scowled at the scars “That bear shouldn’t have done that.”

“YOU shouldn’t have left me.”

“I came back.” Brienne smiled

“Yes, you did.” She closed her eyes and kissed the side of his face. “Don’t you even think about leaving me again.”

“I would rather lose my other hand.”

“Well, be careful with that, you can’t show me what your last hand does and then lose it!” They both burst out laughing, and Jaime wrapped his arms around her, drawing her to his side to savor the beauty of what they had discovered, what they had in the time they had left.


End file.
